


The Grilled Cheese Fic

by tomlinsoul



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Baker Harry, Catering Class, Crack, Fluff, Grilled Cheese, M/M, this is really cute i promise
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-04
Updated: 2016-12-04
Packaged: 2018-09-06 11:33:52
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,153
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8749024
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tomlinsoul/pseuds/tomlinsoul
Summary: Basically: Harry and Louis meet at college during a catering course via a clumsy accident and a grilled cheese sandwich





	

**Author's Note:**

> i quite possibly might write a part two but im lazy and just wanted to post this

Honestly, Louis has no idea why he even took a catering A Level, seeing as he barely scraped a C at GCSE, but the course sounded nice and simple from what he was told, and since moving down to London, he’s eager to take as many social classes as possible. Which is why he’s sat gobsmacked at the kitchen counter the night before he starts college, looking over his ingredients list for the next four weeks.

It was emailed out to him by the teacher who seemed nice enough when he met her at the open day nearly a year ago, and he didn’t clock her to be the slow-paced kind of person, but his intuition was evidently wrong, as the top of the sheet of paper quite literally specifies: 3rd Sept- Cheese Toasties/Grilled Cheese. 

“The fuck?” Louis whispers to himself quietly, conscious of his younger siblings in the room next door. Because really, he’s pretty sure there isn’t anybody in the world who can’t master the cheese toastie, let alone a bunch of A Level Catering students. He definitely isn’t complaining though, considering he prides himself in his ability to half-ass pretty much anything, and if the half-assing here is already partly done… 

Swiftly glancing over the rest of the list, he can see that the rest of the dishes are all pretty simple as well: there’s a vegetable sauce, there’s a choice of either cupcakes or ginger biscuits towards the end of the prospectus. It looks to him like this course won’t be as hard as he originally thought. He collects the ingredients with a smug smile on his face. 

 

For once, he wakes up on time the next morning, so he takes a leisurely shower and eats breakfast to the sound of Disney Channel playing from the TV rather than frantic shouts of his name as his mum tries to usher everyone out of the house before 8 o’clock. He looks up from his endless scrolling through twitter as he hears someone coming down the stairs to see his mum winding round the boxes still scattered throughout the living room to kiss him and Fiz on the head, joining them on the sofa. “Sleep well, love?” she asks him, ruffling his hair before prying the remote from his sister’s hand and changing the channel to the news.

“Yeah. Jealous of this lot though, not going to school until next week,” he grumbles teasingly, pulling gently on Fiz’s hair and feeling a smile spread over his face at her playful squeals. 

His mum smiles fondly at the two of them, pulling herself up to go and get the rest of the family up. “I can give you a lift to school this morning if you want, Lou. Don’t want you lugging your ingredients all the way down.”

It’s a kind offer and his mum is clearly trying to make his first day at sixth form as easy as possible, but he’s feeling pretty good about everything he’s got to do, and taking a stroll through London to start off his day doesn’t sound too bad, if he’s honest. “I think I’ll be alright, mum,” he smiles, “reckon I could fit all my ingredients in my shoe if I tried.”  
Unsurprisingly, she rolls her eyes and heads back upstairs, as Louis sits there with a gleeful smile on his face as he thanks his lucky stars they moved to central London and not some suburban tomb-like outskirt town.  
-  
Harry is late. And when he says late, he means late. Not for the first time, he wishes the family actually owned a car so he could drive in, but he missed his bus and the last two have been chock-full. Really, there isn’t any other choice but to take the underground. (Logically, though, he recognises he’d be even later if he drove. London traffic is a bitch.)

When he’s first moved to London two years ago, the entire concept of public transport had confused him, since they’d been able to walk pretty much everywhere in his old village, and there were always two cars on the drive, ready for those long, tiresome drives down to the seaside, or shorter, buzz-filled trips to Chester Zoo. So he hadn’t been confident about the tube routes or flagging down a taxi until recently. 

He still avoids it where possible, always preferring to walk, but its 8.15 and he’ll be headed for a late detention if he doesn’t arrive in 15 minutes. A challenge he has no choice but to accept. 

Maybe, he thinks as he’s perched against a makeshift seat at the back of a carriage, he’s been cursed, because the last couple of days have been truly horrific. There’s a new employee at the bakery who thinks he’s God’s gift to the business, but in reality his service only resulted in the shop gaining a poor review on trip advisor; he’d only found out yesterday that the syllabus had been changed after checking his email for the first time since the beginning of summer, and had flown out of the flat at nearly midnight to pick up some cheese since the fridge was vacant of all dairy (he blames Gemma and her stupid new vegan complex: not just me, but the whole family!), and the cherry on the cake: he’d woken up late this morning. 

Honestly, the universe is against him. 

Every inch of his body is flooded with extraordinary relief as the tube pulls into Victoria station eight minutes later, and he speeds through the streets until he’s pushing open the glass doors into the lobby. He says a silent thank you to his mother for forcing him to visit the college again last week to help his navigation on his first day as he grabs the lift before the doors close and sees that the button is already pressed for the third floor. Nodding awkwardly at the girl on the other side of the space, he checks to see that he definitely has his ingredients, despite having checked four times already throughout his journey. They’re still there. Thankfully.

There’s still time to have a good day, he reminds himself, and takes a deep breath before pushing open the door to his registering room.  
-  
By 9 o’clock, Louis has come to the conclusion that sixth form is pretty cool. His form tutor is totally relaxed, and started with a five minute presentation of the school and where to go, and then let everyone mingle and get to know each other for the last twenty five. Turns out that there’s three people in his register that are also in his Performing Arts and one that’s in his catering, and everyone seems so much more mature and sound than secondary. 

Liam is really sweet and shy, but he warmed up to Louis quickly, catching on that everything he says is banter and joining in too, and Niall is the most similar person to himself that he’s ever met and it’s really quite wonderful. He meets a few other people, too, like Ed who’s in his performing arts and already knew Niall, and Barbara who is as much of a sarcastic twat as he is.

(It’s all going so well that he pulls out his phone to send a message to his mum, despite the ‘no electronic devices’ signs plastered pretty much everywhere.)

And what’s even better is there’s no itchy tie giving him a neck rash or a shirt that he has to keep tucked in. Not even a blazer that keeps the cold in and the heat out in winter and vice versa in summer, and he can tell that it’s going to be a good few years. 

After a quick half hour, the bell rings and they’re lazily dismissed into the corridor where there are twenty other confused year 12s from the other third floor form, trying to remember where their first class is. He latches on to Niall who’s taking catering with him, and drags him to the elevator where he presses the button for the first floor. The lift is more crowded than the morning, but most of the students chose to take the stairs, so he’s only pushed slightly too close to Niall. Not that the other boy seems to mind. 

Ms. Dalais, the catering teacher, is stood outside the classroom, beckoning everybody in while greeting them with a heavy Scottish accent and a firm handshake. Louis smiles back at her as he files into the room, scanning it over quickly to assess that it’s about half the size of his busy GCSE class, and that it’s a pretty even split between boys and girls. Once the last student has filed in and taken a seat at one of the high stools, the teacher closes the door and marches to the front of the class.

“Well,” she smiles, “looks like this is my lot for the next two years. As I’m sure you’re all aware, I’ve listed the first recipe that we will be making as a simple grilled cheese, cheese toastie, whatever you want to call it.”

There’s a murmur of confirmation around the room, mostly frustrated which has Louis confused, a few content. 

“There is however a reason for this, considering the syllabus specifies that it is essential that you are aware of alternate cooking methods for various dishes. So today, everybody will make two grilled cheese sandwiches, in two different methods. I’ve listed them both on the board and have assigned everybody a hob and a grill around the room. You have the hour to complete it, and I will be assessing your progress at the end of the lesson.” She clarifies her point by sitting down at her desk, and gesturing with her hands for everybody to get into action. 

Louis and Niall are conveniently placed on the same oven, and let the other two students use the hob first while they try the toasting method. “Don’t know about you, mate,” Niall says dover the chatter and clanging of the room, “but this is the only way I’ve ever known how to make a toastie.”

Louis laughs loudly as his pops up and he shakes it out of its bag and onto the plate. “Think its American actually,” he replies as he writes his name on the label and places the dish in the middle with the other toastie that someone made. “Specialised in that cuisine last year.”

“Gotcha,” Niall replies, continuing the conversation with a story about his food tech class, making Louis feel at ease in the room. He’s pretty sure the day couldn’t go better.  
That is, of course, until he’s frying his grilled cheese in the pan at the hop. He’s fairly certain he’s going to ace this project, because the top still looks pale enough to cook a bit longer, so he decides to flip it over. “Hey, Ni, watch this,” he says, lifting the pan off the hob.

“Mate, I really wouldn’t-“ Niall tries to stop him but Louis cuts him off by flipping the pan too far, and watching the grilled cheese leave the frying pan and fly across the room, and he turns just in time to see it hit a pretty boy with curly hair smack in the face. 

“Do that,” Niall finishes as the room goes silent and Louis locks eyes with the pretty boy, who now has a slightly red, greasy face. The boy breaks eye contact to stare at the offending toastie on the floor, and just like that everyone snaps into action. 

Louis darts across the room as people start to get back to work and the teacher joins him over at the boy’s hob. “Mate, I am so sorry, I thought I would be able to flip it because you know, I always think I’m better than I am at things like this, but oh my god, are you okay? Did I hurt you? I’m honestly so, so sorry, is there anything I can do? I mean-“ 

He’s cut off in his endless rambling by a small giggle, and he sees the boy smiling fondly at him. “It’s okay, I promise. I’m fine,” he smiles shyly, looking up at Louis again. “I’m Harry, by the way.”

“Louis,” he grins back, “and you’re really cute, by the way.”

Harry blushes, whether it’s at the compliment or the teasing, Louis doesn’t know, but if he’d had to guess, he’d venture both. “So are you,” he murmurs, looking down at his shoe.

“Well, I should probably get back to rescuing my grade and re-doing the toastie, I guess, but maybe we could meet after this period?” Louis asks, knowing he’s pushing his luck.

“Um, I could- I could, help you, if you’d like?” Harry suggests, blushing again, “I mean I’m already finished, so…”

“Yeah,” Louis says, beaming again, “I like the sound of that.”


End file.
